The Donkey Will Know: Remembering Leonard Michaels

“He changes his mind. Every day. Twice a day. Drove me crazy. He has weird ideas of what to do. I don’t want to work for him again.” My friend paused. Then added: “Maybe you want to?” He was hopeful when he said this. As in: Please. Please take him off my hands.

Both of us were contractors in Berkeley, California. And my friend knew that I sometimes relished clients with eccentric tastes and ideas. I said, “Sure, I’ll meet him. Give him my number.”

So Leonard Michaels called me, and we met. Roughly twenty-five years ago now. For whatever reason, we were old friends immediately. And so we remained for the next decade and a half. Remodelling his home, on and off. Sharing meals. Sharing our deeply politically incorrect views of culture and humanity. And also following the uplifts and the crashes of each other’s relationships with women.

Until his sudden death took him away.

* * *

From way back when e-mail was new, Lenny wrote, “I knew all along she was perfect for you. Even though I never met her.”

He was speaking of Veronica. Veronica, who, two months earlier, had dumped me. After a year of ecstasy. At least for me. So I was a wreck. A complete wreck. Almost not functional. I felt as though my arms had been ripped off.

For the first month, Lenny had been here—in California—and had taken exquisite emotional care of me. Then he’d gone back to Italy, where in those days he lived most of the year. At the end of the second month, Veronica had called me and told me she’d realized she couldn’t live without me. Right after her phone call, I had e-mailed Lenny to tell him.

Lenny’s response continued:

But I became immediately alarmed when I heard she had a donkey.

Yes, Veronica had a donkey. Ellie. A sweet old donkey that had come with her property.

Then Lenny’s e-mail admonished:

You must take care of the donkey.

But you cannot do it just any old way. You must do it with real feeling. Everything depends on this. You will not be able to fool the donkey.

The donkey will know.

Lenny.

* * *

Of all the memories I have of him, this e-mail rises to the top and remains there, a perfect crystalization of Lenny’s magic. Unpremeditated, true and beautiful all the way down, layer upon layer.

Yes, it is funny.

Yes, of course it is true that to care for the donkey is to care for Veronica. But it is also true that to care for the donkey in order win Veronica is foul play, is deception. Only caring for the donkey for the sake of caring for the donkey counts for anything at all. The donkey herself, being a creature of divine and silent perception, of feeling as deep as eternity, always knows the difference. And yes, there is something in us each, a thing of divine and silent perception, of feeling as deep as eternity, that also always knows the difference. If we choose to make it our purpose, we can tune ourselves ever more keenly to that something. Everything depends on this. In one way or another, this was Lenny’s unwavering message to everyone who came in contact with him.